Dad, Are You Hitting On My Teacher?
by Ienyu
Summary: Love worked in mysterious ways and struck at the most random times, whether the participants were ready or not. Ichigo was definitely not ready, especially when these abrupt feelings were directed at the parent of one of his students. [Warning- iceberg principal utilized. There's a LOT of 'reading between the lines' until later on.]
1. (I) Resist much, obey little

Dad, are you hitting on my teacher?

A/N: I was going to work on my older fanfictions, but the CD with my data is stuck inside my computer- the actual body of the computer. I have no idea how to remove it without breaking the ejector.

(I was going to apologize that the characters were going to be out of character for the first few chapters until I realized- it's an AU. It's okay xD)

* * *

As the room flooded out, he broke his stiff position and threw his head back, pushing away with his feet toward the window. Before the chair could come to a rolling stop, he got up and went to lean over one of the large sills, loitering only for a moment before grabbing the chair again and returning to his desk.

In the most accurate of English terms, one could say he was fucking pissed- fucking used to describe an intensity, and pissed- as in he was pissed that out of a class of 38, only 12 bothered to hand in their papers after he gave them an entire month to complete it. Was it really that hard to pick at least two printed sources and…and just do the damn work?

It was already half-way through the year, and the work effort of his students had been overall pathetic. These were high school students, right? Where was the responsibility, the duty? In another year or two they'll be taking timed college exams, and yet currently, most couldn't write an essay in the time-span of a month.

The bell sounded, signaling the start of the next wave of classes. Great, now he was late to his next class. Shuffling his things into a shoulder bag, he hastily erased the work he had written on the board just as the next teacher to use the room came in with her class. He nodded a quick greeting before leaving.

She was an older woman, though most of his co-workers had at least ten years over him. He was fairly young, only 21, graduating early with a bachelors in teaching and a masters in literature. He had the basic credentials for his job, yet he couldn't seem to ascertain his position. His classes had close to no respect for him, and he had heard whispers from the teachers that they believed an older, more experienced person would suit the position better.

Well peas to them.

From outside the door, he heard the students messing around in his absence. Screeching of displaced desks moaned from the walls, followed by laughter. This was not what he wanted to deal with right now. He gripped the door handle, contemplating how he should handle the situation. He would have to try to keep it professional -

"All of you- put the damn desks back where they belong, find a seat, and shut your facial orifices!" Maybe not the best choice of words, but damn that felt good. Eyes watched his outburst quizzically, complying with smug faces.

"Looks like its Kurosaki's 'time of the month'."

"Isn't that always?"

Predictably, only a select few bothered to do the assignment he had given the week before. Jotting down the objectives on the board, he temporarily left the class to their own devices while he checked the collected work. The room's setup was a tad different than his previous', as the main desk was in the back corner facing front rather than in front of his students at the helm of the room. He liked it better this way; by this time, most of his patience was close to drying out. Taking his place, he slouched in his chair and pushed it back as far as he could into the corner. Pulling a red pen from behind his ear, he straightened the stack- if you could call it that- on his lap and began to scan through.

The scrawled names were common-place, but he was pleasantly surprised to come across a name he didn't often frequent across; Neliel Oderschvank, however as his eyes wandered the pages, his brow furrowed deeper. His previous lesson plan pushed aside, he allowed the class period to continue on its own until the bell finally rang- ending both the class and the school day. As students filed out, he called to the green-haired girl.

"Neliel, I'd like a word with you."

She glanced at her friends who shrugged, leaving as she approached the teacher's desk. He held the paper out towards her, flipping through the pages. "Did you write this?"

"Duh, my name's on it, isn't it?"

"Please save your 'duh's for when you're with your friends. " She rolled her eyes and he continued. "Perhaps the act of attaining direct assistance from a parent or peer had been acceptable in prior years, but this is unacceptable. Claiming another's work as your own is a serious offence, plagiarism-"

"But I did write it-"she interjected quickly before being cut off.

"This isn't even your handwriting." She was silent, and Ichigo sighed, putting down the paper. "Coming clean unfortunately won't pardon you from this at this point. I'm going to have to talk to your parents."

"No you can't do that!" Her hands slammed onto the table, surprising the teacher.

Quirking an eyebrow, "And why is that?" Given no response, he turned away from her silent form, her head bowed and eyes directed anywhere but the older man. He could feel her contempt for his being leaking through her pores, but the best thing he deduced was to let her seethe before having another word.

Accessing her student information from the system database, he didn't stop her when she slunk out the door. The door didn't slam, but smacked shut with enough force to leave a resonating ring in his ear. Passive aggression at its finest.

With a mild aching in his temples, he pulled up the contact information for her household. There were no telephone lines, email, or fax- only an address. While originally not planning to meet in person with her parents, sending a message through post seemed pointless if going there himself would take no more than 20 minutes. The teacher quickly scrawled the address on a sheet of paper and folded it, tucking it loosely into the pocket of his ashen grey pants.

He sighed, gathering his things for the last time for the day.

It was more than clear to him this was not going to be a pleasant visit. Probability speaking, his student was most likely not going to inform her parents of his arrival, and suddenly showing up on their doorstep without notice just seemed imprudent of him. He hadn't been versed in personal house calls yet- should he ask someone in the teachers' lounge the proper way to proceed?

No. He didn't need their snide remarks; he'd figure it out himself. Confident, he strode out, missing a step and tripping.

#

Shit. Was this the right neighborhood? Maybe he missed that last turn at Hollow Oak.

Write the address, Ichigo. Completely forget about the directions, Ichigo. Nice fuck up, Ichigo.

He thunked his head against the steering wheel, accidentally eliciting its blaring screech at a car in front of him. The person ahead rolled their window down and proceeded to flip him off before turning into a drive way. Asshole.

A trip he had theorized would take no more than a few minutes of his time wound up leading him into the late evening. The sun hung low, resting between a crevice of hills as if sitting back to watch the young man's strife.

He wanted to turn back an hour ago, however soon found himself lost in the winding back hill roads. The thick forests that stood snug against the single-lane road blocked any attempt for cell service, rendering his phone useless in terms of calling for help and GPS.

At least if things got bad, he still had an app that could provide a rousing game of Sudoku.

_Beep. Beep. Beep. _On his dashboard, his gas light came on, bright and red. Grimacing, he gripped the wheel tighter and straightened against the seat. And suddenly, in addition to everything else in his god dammed life, he had to worry about being stranded on an unfamiliar road in the evening with no method of communication.

Well there was always the option of smoke signals, with all the trees around making a fire wouldn't be an issue. Except he hadn't made a fire without the use of man-made ignition since he was seven- but now wasn't the time to let his cynical side flourish. He had to fix the mess he had landed himself in.

According to his memory, it had been roughly two miles since he was flipped off by some intolerable prick and six since he had seen any signs of habitation. If he were to turn around, he would probably have enough to glide to the residential area and phone for assistance. It would be on fumes, but he had to try.

Shifting to reverse, he easily maneuvered his black hybrid back and around despite the small space to do so, making sure to utilize every movement in precious fuel conservation. What was left was able to drive him back down his previous path a little less than… two miles. Engine sputtering to death, he pulled up against the side of the road under a large bush, setting shift to park.

He checked the premises, praying that perhaps there was any other house he could ask for assistance from. And of course fate was not done screwing him over just yet.

Fidgeting under the porch light, he could practically feel his typical layers of defense peel, leaving him feeling oddly vulnerable. It wasn't like him, and the atrocity of the change in composure was almost embarrassing. All he had to do was knock and ask if he could use the phone. It wasn't a big deal. He was an adult, any feelings of insecurity doing something such as this would have been considered childish on his part. Aside from previously being on the receiving side of 'fuck you' via finger, there was no reason to worry.

Without fully realizing it, his knuckles lightly rasped across the wooden door. His hand hovered as he listened for any sign of activity inside. When no sound echoed back, he contemplated retreating back to his car to camp until morning, retracting his arm slowly, ears attentive just in case. Nothing. Just as he was about to trod down the porch steps the door cracked open.

In the dim light he could just make out two pairs of eyes.

Before Ichigo could utter a word, one of the forms exploded forward, door hinges shrieking in sudden surprise. A scutter of nails against the floor, and he was suddenly pushed backwards. Balance lost, he winced when his tailbone hit the ground most unceremoniously. Held down by his shoulders, a big, lolling tongue rolled across his face.

A thick tail slapped against his thigh, and after a few more excited licks the animal backed off, panting happily over him, dog tags clinking with every breathy movement of its massive head.

He was too dazed and slobbered to register what had happened until the second form pulled the dog away by its collar.

"Bad- no… bad dog." The voice held no true authority to it.

Arms free, he wiped some of the sticky wetness from his face. It smelled like corn starch and beef patties.

"Who are you?"

The question caught him off guard. At least the other man seemed not to recognize him.

"Not asking for your autobiography, kid."

"I'm no child, I'm 21." He snapped.

"Only 21?" The other laughed dryly. "Still a kid."

"Look-"the young adult stood, having felt underhanded being on lower ground. Standing, he found himself a full inch taller. Petty confidence in height-dominance flavored his demeanor. "I don't want trouble. My car ran out of gas while I was looking for a certain address and my phone isn't getting any service. I'd very much appreciate it if I could use your phone so I can get the hell out of here."

"Sorry- don't have a phone. Fax machine or computer for that matter, neither."

"You're shitting me." Well that was fan-fucking-tastic. "Alright then, thanks anyways. I'm sorry for wasting your time."

He turned to head back to his car.

"Wait. You were looking for someone out here. Might not have the typical conveniences of a computer or phone, but there's still the old fashion method. Got a directory in the back, care to give it a whirl?"

At this point, it would have been foolish to decline.

With the lighting above and from the doorway, the other man had appeared completely bleached. As it turned out, stepping into the foreign home, he was naturally that way. Ichigo tried not to stare at the abnormal pigmentation. It wasn't that he found it strange, rather on the lines of majestic- like in the remains of Greek statues.

He allowed himself to be seated at a kitchen table while the apparently older male dug around in a nearby drawer. The book that was placed in front of him was old- the pages crinkled by what appeared to be water damage and a coffee stain. Flipping through, he found some of the pages stuck and had to be gently peeled apart. He dug into his pocket for the sheet he wrote the address on, but his hand was only met with emptiness.

_Tch._ Of course.

"What's the matter?"

He dropped his head down into folded arms and looked sideways at his host, who he realized with slight embarrassment, was a little closer to his proximity than he would have normally felt comfortable with. Hiding any signs of his discomfort, he faced down, concealing his face in his arms. Nose practically touching the worn directory, he could smell the musk of the pages. It was oddly reminiscent to his college days- where his nose was practically always in a book. Never this literally, of course.

"Don't laugh." He mumbled, voice stifled by the book. "When I was leaving work, I wasn't paying attention and tripped. I think it may have fallen from my pocket."

The man snorted softly, corner of his mouth slightly hitched. Was that supposed to be a smirk? "Where were you heading in such a rush? Your boyfriends?"

Ichigo spluttered, feeling a flush rise to his face.

The smirk fell, however the same lightness was evident in his features. "Just kidding."

"Well i-if you must know, I was making a work related run. I teach literature at a high school. I needed to meet with one of my student's parents." He answered coolly, but softened. "Though now, I kind of wish I just let it go. Here I thought something so simple wouldn't be an issue, and look at where that landed me. I'm exhausted, lost, out of gas in some strangers home, no offence- and I'm just sick of this… I mean-"

He could feel the stress of the day lodged in his throat, bobbing up and down ready for release. He wasn't looking for a pat on the back or empty words of sympathy; it just felt damn good to get some of the load off of his back. Lifting his head, he faced the other man. His hair was a bit tussled, and he had a feeling there was a red impression on his forehead from the table. "I'm not perfect, and well- fuck, nobody is. I try- but where does that lead me? My students think I'm some prick, the other faculty members all believe I'm an incompetent good-for nothing-"

The teacher let out a despaired chuckle. "And here I am, pouring myself out onto you. Listen, I'm really sorry about this. I'd have thrown my sorry ass out if I were you. But hey, you know what? I was in a rush when I wrote down the address, but maybe you know the place. My student, her name is-"

"Sorry I'm late." There was a clutter of something hitting the floor followed by footsteps. "Dad, why is the front door wide open? You trying to get us rob-"

Silence.

She stared wide eyed at Ichigo, and he stared back. He cleared his throat. "Good evening, Neliel."

#

If at any time during the evening young teacher had felt even the slightest twinge of discomfort, this one topped them all- the finishing garnish on a day he'd like the Oderschvank's dog to shred and bury so he'd never have to recall it again. Putting two and two together, the stranger- Mr. Oderschvank, had sent his daughter a look, promising they'd talk later. She gladly complied and retreated upstairs.

He felt positively humiliated. In an attempt to escape, he had left for his car to retrieve the offending cause of the trip- but Neliel's father insisted on accompanying him.

Unsure of what to do, he handed the essay sheepishly to the father, allowing him to flip through himself as they leaned against the hood of his car.

"This, er- had been an assignment I had given the week prior. Since the class hadn't shown any interest in the book I had planned on working with, I thought a different assignment would be more of accommodating to the general consensus. I…" He coughed. "The point was for the kids to create their own fictions based on methods learned in class."

"And?"

"I have seen your daughter's handwriting a number of times, and though I understand a progression and change in style through time, this is completely different. If Neliel wishes to move on to higher education, having another doing her work is no way of accomplishing this. I'm sure you're aware; plagiarism is a serious offence in this day and age. Of course, it is not only your daughter who deserves to be reprimanded- I'm also trying to find out who had done her work for her-"

"I did." The albino crumpled the papers into a ball, tossing them somewhere in the lawn.

"You, sir… I don't understand. Why would you-"

"Was it bad?"

The comment caught the teacher off guard. He pursed his lips pensively. Actually, no, it was brilliant. The method of relaying the theme within the greater picture through each action and interaction between characters and their environment in such a short span of pages was breathtaking. The slightest action one might disregard as scribble between the lines actually served as a piece that helped paint the bigger picture. If he were to be so bold, it was a masterpiece. While it would have been a thrill to see Neliel able to produce such work as his student, it just wasn't her work. He couldn't give credit for something that not only wasn't written by her, but for something that didn't even come _from_ her.

Ichigo covered his mouth, taken aback by his sudden outburst. It appeared the other was too- and both took on a thick discomfiture.

He hadn't even realized he had been talking- and so fervently at that.

"You're… pretty passionate about literature."

His head hung low, still in shame of his impromptu outburst. "Yeah."

He felt a tentative hand on the back of his neck that moved gently to his head. "I'm not sure how Nel managed to get that, but I'll make sure this doesn't happen again. Thank you for notifying me."

Ichigo nodded, the thin hairs of his neck standing on end from the contact. They remained tense even when the hand retreated.

"And don't worry about your car, I'll drive you home. I have a buddy who owns a pickup truck with a rig; he can get your car back by morning."

* * *

A/N: Edit: July 20-13.


	2. (II) I am large, I contain multitudes

Dad, Are You Hitting On My Teacher?

A/N: If I ever boasted about a long chapter- this. THIS. THIS SOLE CHAPTER IS A MILESTONE. Except for the fact that this chapter makes me want to pop balloons with my teeth and kick trashcans.

* * *

He flicked on the lights, giving a weak wave to the retreating Honda before shutting the door with his heel. Tossing his bag onto the door-side table, he slumped to his bedroom, kicking off his shoes and not really giving two where they landed.

Ichigo dropped to his bed with an audible _sprong_. The uneven, upholstery-brick had never felt so heavenly. Checking his digital clock, he was shocked to see it had only just struck seven. It had felt much later than that.

Exhausted, he buried his head into the folds of unmade linen, curling his knees into his chest as a slow roll of sickness came over him. His brows furrowed. The sensation was foreign to the teacher, as he typically took prodigious care to maintain his health due to early childhood influences living in a clinic. While the teacher tried to ignore it, a nagging voice prattled on about the upkeep of immunity, and that there was a packet of doctor-recommended VitaC that could assist him in such. In the case that this was encroaching illness, it was recommended that he take precautionary measures. Besides, a sick day was not something he had the luxury to take, especially with midterm exams to prepare.

Fighting heavy lids, he dragged himself to his small kitchen, swinging open the cupboards absentmindedly and closing them with the same unenergetic zeal.

Cup, cup cup… oh right, dishwasher. The top of the rack rattled with a jubilee of ceramic and glass. He plucked one up, frowning distastefully at the remaining residue that fogged the cup with an unpleasant white film. Replacing it with a cleaner mug, he filled it with water and ripped open a packet of VitaC, letting the powdered drink substance dissolve as it floated down. As a second thought, he plucked a few loose ibuprofens off the counter and popped them in his mouth.

Bottoms up.

The lukewarm liquid flowed down his throat along with the pills. He grimaced when a small drip of concentrated drink mix from the bottom crawled into his mouth as he finished. Despite the sour after-slurry, it felt nice to have something in his stomach. It hadn't occurred to him how empty he was, but he wasn't sure he could keep anything down no matter how much his stomach churned.

Funny thing about stomach rumbles. What they are, interestingly enough, are electric convulsions of the intestines promoting any food stuck to the inner lining to fall into the stomach. Or so it goes.

He leaned over the counter, head propped in his hands as another roll of nausea overcame him. The counter-top felt absolutely frigid against his arms, was he running a fever? A quick check of the thermometer denied this- not even a tenth off from usual, and yet his head throbbed with an increasing ache that had him in hot retention.

He took a deep breath in an attempt to slow his minds race to a slower stride. He couldn't say _this_ feeling was completely unknown to him. In the midst of college, relentless studying and the strain placed on his eyes to focus on the small text of musty books often resulted in migraines of the century. Remembering a technique his father had taught him to gather his bearings; he organized all of the day's events in order in which they occurred. With a bit of effort, the images crawled by. It wasn't anything too out of the ordinary; he got up and went to work, updated the progress reports, had a girl break down in his class when he asked about her essay due that day, found out a majority had not completed the assignment, and so on and so forth. But then he read a short story, simply titled 'Forsaken'.

He closed his eyes and tried to rebuild the image in his head to the fullest extent as he had experienced it. It was mangled and blotchy, like an amateur trying to imitate a master. What he could remember however was the overwhelming sense of drowning. The words were rich, but the diction was dark and pulled him down deeper. There was a sort of hypnotic attraction he could not deny. It had felt almost taboo, but what latched on for the final kill was the sheer emotion. Any heartache he had thought he suffered from as a youth was nothing to the cold clutch imposed by mere text, and yet through it all, the protagonist wore a mask smooth of any pain, white and unmovable.

So entrenched in the alternate world, Ichigo hadn't noticed time fly by or the drastic difference in handwriting until after a few minutes of finishing. After a short talk to Neliel, he had arranged to meet with her parents- which landed him in the deeper end of his harrowing tale.

Who would have thought that after all the trouble it took to find the place, he'd just wind up on their doorstep? Irony at its best- but that was just the half of it. After being attacked by what he had thought was some sort of guard bear, he had not only unknowingly met one of the parents of his student but also the true author of 'Forsaken'. He groaned, covering his eyes with his hand. He hadn't been particularly restrained in expressing his opinion on the piece, especially after hearing the man write it off as something bad. Shit- and then there was the emotional dam leak. It was mortifying, and the entire ride home was spent in silence, Ichigo nursing an injured pride. For someone to have seen him like that… the teacher wrapped his arms around his sides. It was like exposing a soft underbelly, yet instead of the attack he expected, he was only met with a caressing touch of understanding. He hadn't expected it. It was uncomfortable, and he was glad Neliel's father had made no move to make any further comments on the incidents of the evening.

Still wrapped in himself, he wandered back into his bedroom.

While the ibuprofen helped alleviate the remaining aches in his temples, the notion of sleep was almost impossible. He wanted it- prayed for it, but it never came. Lying still in the dark, eyes closed and breaths rhythmic, his body had taken on the perfect illusion of slumber. Contrasting with this serene picture, his mind was awake and active; mulling through the thoughts, pictures, and sounds experienced the previous day. Every time it felt as if the random patterns would lull him to sleep, a particular occurrence would drag him back.

It was irritating.

When his alarm began to blare, he didn't waste a second slapping the snooze. Four-o'clock had never appeared so menacing, but four was still four- too early to get up just yet. He didn't have anything to get done before work, so he could afford another half hour or two. He closed his eyes. When he opened them up again, 6:20 stared right back.

With whatever energy his deprived body could muster he jolted out of bed and to the shower, dropping his clothes on the ground without care. He fiddled with the faucet, opting for the cooler water. Ichigo shivered as the spray ran down his body, overpowering the heat that had forcefully held him during the night. What had loomed over him had cleared from his head. It was a good feeling, but he didn't have the time he would have liked to fully enjoy its gratifying release.

With only a transitory towel-dry, the fresh clothes stuck fast to his moistened skin. The particular shirt he tore from the hanger had been a gift from his sister. Having not seen him since leaving home, she clearly had been disillusioned into thinking that he was now some sort of long, lanky giant, as the arms extended at least a hand or two past his own. He had to roll them to his elbows to get the appropriate appearance. He couldn't normally tuck in the shirt either- having to fold it over in order for it not to look absolutely ridiculous. Other than size, it was quite comfortable and breathed well- made from some sort of cotton mixture of white with a light blue plaid design. Coupling it with a pair of tan slacks, he fiddled through his drawer for socks, unable to find any matchers. So one grey, one navy.

Pre-made coffee brewed in its pot, normally already there for him at four. One cup, black- it was enough to get him through the day. If he had time, he could make a pit stop on the way for something more sustaining. He checked his watch. 6:50. Nope, no time.

Digging for his keys, the now-running late teacher walked into his driveway and-

Oh crap, where was his car?

He turned his head, unbelieving. He had thought the albino had said his car would be back by morning. Fantastic, so some truck-driving 'friend' was out there, with the tail of his only transportation dangling from a hook, somewhere in the world. He was expected to be in the building no later than 7: 15. The drive in itself would have been a good 40 minutes. He paled at the walk.

Just as he began to retreat back inside to report the incident to his boss, tail between frustrated legs, a horn beeped at him.

Saved- at least that's what he would have liked to feel, but staring at the black Honda, it felt more like the keeper of the dead had come for his soul instead. Hesitantly, he approached the familiar car. He recognized the head of untamed green hair in the passenger's seat, her jasmine eyes unwilling to make contact with his. Her arms were crossed, and she was slumped far enough in the seat to look as if she were growing out of it. The driver's door opened, saffron eyes watching him expectantly.

He tried to maintain eye contact but suddenly found the tree off to the side a lot more interesting. Er. "Good morning, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"We can save small talk for the road-" When the albino noticed the continued leeriness of the ginger-haired teacher, he explained. "My friend got into an accident this morning. His truck took the blunt of the impact so he's doing alright, but both his and your vehicles are at the garage. They said repair would take a week, two at most."

Ichigo could feel the color drain from his face. He ran a hand through disheveled hair. Great. _Great._ That was definitely not what he wanted to hear. He looked to the other man. His face was stone, but he could see an apologetic glimmer in the man's sunken irises. A pained expression began to cross his face but he suppressed it. While he really hadn't been planning on another car adventure with the other man, he couldn't deny that the timing was impeccable. He bit his lip lightly, checking the imposing face of his watch.

He had his reservations. As much as he would have liked to be angry with the other adult, he had to admit that the gesture was a thoughtful one. Mr. Oderschvank was probably no happier about this than Ichigo was and just wanted to make right on his part. It would have been rude to decline, right? Right. Three minutes had passed, making him three minutes later. Time was ticking. What choice did he have anyways?

The ginger sighed. "Shall we?"

With the compliance of a stalwart ox, Neliel moved to the backseat behind her father, opening up the passenger seat. In unison the two older men got in, doors shutting.

He leaned against the car door, head resting on the window. The ride was smooth but the car was stuffy like a bated breath held. The teacher loosed his collar. At least it was just one time. This afternoon he could call the dealership and arrange for a rental for-

"What time do you get out of work?"

He lifted his head from the window, gaze focusing on the albino for the first time during the ride. "Huh?"

The man's eyes were focused on the street with the bored interest of someone who had driven long enough to find road life rather monotonous. His tone matched the same dullness, as if explaining something obvious. "The time, to pick you up?"

"Oh no-"Ichigo blurted, quickly adding "I mean, you don't need to do that. Its- eh, I can manage-"

"Sure you could, but I'm volunteering."

He frowned. "I'm not too positive about this, Mr. Oderschvank. What you're doing for me now is enough. There is no need for you to go out of your way like this-"

"But I want to. Let me take care of yo- "the parent straightened in his seat. "This."

The slip of tongue did not go unnoticed. From the backseat, Neliel coughed. "Hey Dad, I'm going to roll down the window. It's getting a little warm in here."

Returning to his previous position, head resting in his hand, Ichigo allowed what had just taken place to settle in his brain. He didn't understand what the albino's ulterior motives were behind all of this… this- what could he even call it? He briefly flashed back to the night before. Was it related to that?

The windows slid slowly down, a rush of cool air shooting through the growing crack. The hot air was quickly exchanged with the cooler air outside.

No, he doubted it. In fact, it seemed as if the parent had completely forgotten about what had happened yesterday, or was just continuing the unspoken oath of silence from the previous car ride. He earnestly hoped it was the prior. Despite his initial plan, it wasn't as if he could afford a rental, and he'd be dammed if he asked another co-worker for a carpool. Accepting the proposal, he didn't want to accidentally open himself to an interrogation of some sort.

It wasn't easy to still his stirring agitations, but he made an excuse for himself that relaxed his nerves enough.

He'd allow himself to accept the Oderschvank's offer, but only because he didn't want to seem unappreciative. He sent the other a discreet glance. He prayed this was the right choice.

"I leave today at five. There's a staff meeting. I want to say in advance that I really appreciate what you're doing Mr.-"

"Again with the 'mister'?" He asked facetiously. "Without it is fine, or if 'Oderschvank's a pain enough to say, my name is Shirosaki."

"I couldn't- don't you think it's a little too informal?"

"Perhaps, but is formality not just another rigid compliance to a set of courtesies of an etiquette? People are not as conventional as these formalities restrict them to."

"Well, order is comfort." Ichigo shrugged. The other raised a brow in amusement.

#

As per request by both teacher and daughter, Shiro parked on the side of the road behind the school to let the two passengers out. While Ichigo gathered his things and made his leave, Neliel sluggishly pulled her bag from the seat beside her onto her lap and gave him a shrewd stare through the headrest of the seat. He glanced at her from the rearview mirror.

"What?"

She unlatched the door, stepping out. "Oh nothing, nothing."

The door shut close and she walked away, slinging the bag over her shoulder.

He frowned, watching her disappear into the accumulating crowd of school-goers. He hesitated for a moment, watching the rest of the throng enter the building. Teenagers entered as happily as kids going to school could appear, walking either alone or in their particular groups. He imagined they were talking about a variety of things- unimportant things teenagers often exchanged with each other, like what they were going to wear for prom, or what kind of television show had the best looking actors. It was hard to imagine in the sea of plainness, a singular individual struggled like a leaf caught in a storm- yet held a force with enough potential strength to knock away a hurricane.

When he had first met the young educator, the man seemed as plebian and unfilled as the rest. Yet there was something enticing about the other that gradually grew on him the longer he was exposed to this entity known as 'Ichigo'. The odd interest only seemed to grow as the other demonstrated a keen passion Shiro himself had forgotten, having given up on his own pursuit of the written tongue a few years after his daughter had come into his life. The craving to pick up sword and carve another wound into the world had suddenly been lit. It was a small flame, a feeble one at mercy to the wind. But Ichigo had somehow been the breeze to feed this tiny fire.

It was quite peculiar, and he surprised himself in this sudden interest in someone new. Shiro supposed this character could prove to be somewhat of an acquaintance- but he could feel the other held reservations against the idea, clearly recovering from having his walls disintegrate so abruptly in front of someone he was not familiar with. That was fine; he could wait for the other man to rebuild his shaky structure.

He briefly wondered how Nel would react to his decision. It was pretty obvious the way she spoke of her teacher that she didn't hold him in any sort of light. After he had dropped Ichigo off at his house, he had found Nel in her room with their dog. The Tibetan mastiff's giant body was sprawled over her bed, covering every inch of the twin-bed while she took refuge leaning against its flurry body. As he approached, the mastiff's fan-like tail began to slap the bedpost excitedly, whipping up a gust that blew away a few pieces of loose papers on the ground.

At least someone was happy to see him.

It had been difficult at first to get Nel to talk, but once he did she spoke like a faucet on high. Apparently she was in the danger-zone for Ichigo's class and needed to receive at least a solid A if she were to pass. Knowledgeable of his past in literature, she had snuck into the desk he had stowed away in the attic and plucked a random piece of his to hand in, and that she was really sorry and was never ever ever ever ever going to do something so stupid again_. _While he was disappointed in her choice of action, he didn't discipline her. He didn't enforce parental guidance in that manner. She knew what she did was wrong by her own conditioning, and that was enough. So with nod, he left it at that.

Turning his key in ignition, he pulled away from the school towards a particular destination. He hoped the other wouldn't be in too sour of a mood from his tardiness.

He cruised towards the neighborhood, bitter taste creeping into his mouth. A white cobblestone wall surrounded the cul-de-sac, preventing any outside eyes from catching a glimpse of life inside this elite structure. A pointless contraption, serving more like a prison keeping the inhabitants blind to the world outside- but that was just his perception of Las Noches.

As he approached the gates, his car was stopped.

The guard looked into his window and he rolled it down, handing the bulky man his license for inspection. The tanned man didn't take it, eyes locked firmly on Shiro's.

"For a guy who left for good, you sure come by often." He snorted, opening the gates for the black car.

He counted down the house numbers until he came to the only one on the block that didn't make him want to slice off the fingers of his hand. Without the truck, the driveway looked especially empty but gave him the adequate space to park. He pulled in close, already greeted by the sight of his friend emerging from the grand glass doors of his abode.

"Schiffer."

"Oderschvank." The pale man paused before adding dully, "You're late."

Shiro cocked his head, motioning for the ravenette to get into the car. "If you'll humor me, I'll explain at the garage."

Wordlessly he got in, and the pair left the bowels of the estate.

It was a unique friendship Shiro shared with Ulquiorra, one that sashayed between mutual agreement and reciprocal distaste for the others guts. It was a complex ordeal, but somehow for the most part they've remained amiable despite their lingering dispute- he believed in the absence of choice on a personal level and reliance of instinct while Schiffer found the true fault to be in the existence of human emotion. Needless to say they had butted heads frequently in the pest through heated debates, sharp tongues cracking at each other viciously. It was impassioned but enjoyable, like sparring with a lifetime rival. Over time however, his blade had grown dull and their recurrent banters dropped in frequency until ceasing all together. Though they hadn't been on his mind lately, he realized that he missed those short battles shared exclusively with the withdrawn man. He pursed his lips in brief thought. He was feeling kind of combative today. Maybe he'd test the waters again.

He cleared his voice. "What is it that excites the soul and drives men mad?"

Emerald eyes darted towards him in their sockets. "It is the greed and constant yearning of more. People will never be satisfied with what is in their material possession. Self-worth is calculated by such. But the allusion of fulfillment prompts manufactured happiness. "

"It sounds like someone has been reading a bit too much Marx."

"Oh?" The tone was condescending, but Shiro could sense it- the challenge he had initiated was slowly being reciprocated. The ancient cogs and gears, while rusted by abandonment, were beginning to turn. "I was under the impression your participation in sociological study stopped at Lord of the Flies."

"That, coming from someone who felt Edna's suicide was unwarranted?"

"The fault was in the portrayal. The Awakening was otherwise was brilliantly executed."

The albino applied extra pressure to the pedal, accelerating the black Civic up the approaching incline. "While I agree to a point, there remains a major variable missing. Where are the shackles of emotion typical of the human heart- are Edna's not of the emptiness of the world she lives in, latched so heavily to her ankles, causing her to drown in the only embrace that could accept her?"

"Irrelevant. What has been labeled as emotion is an excuse to hide failure. She could not access the power she had sought by leaving Léonce for Robert."

"Or perhaps, in meeting him, she had recalled a passion long forgotten?" His voice trailed off, switching his foot to the brakes as they coasted down towards the center of town. Ulquiorra made no move to retort, his normally void eyes glinting with something akin to inquisitiveness before dying back to indifference as the engine was cut- the car now parked in front of the automotive shop.

The large metal doors of the garage were lifted up, giving full view of the carnage inside. Both car and truck were jacked into the air for the mechanic surgeons to perform their slow-paced operation- one currently paused for a lunch break while their patients leaked oily blood. Off in the corner Shiro spotted the heart of Ulquiorra's truck. He didn't know much about the world of automobiles, but he knew engines were not supposed to look like burnt poodles. The hybrid stood no better- the fender was completely busted and the entire windshield was cracked. From what he could see, it looked like a lot of what was under the hood had been gutted. Seeing the damage done in person, he couldn't believe Ulquiorra got out unscathed. The guy was like a rock.

A tall woman with long hair pulled into a ponytail spotted them and set towards them.

"Hey you must be Mr. Schiffer- I have some bad news and good news. The bad news is that the damage is a little more extensive than what we discussed on the phone. The good news is that despite this, everything is repairable and is covered by your insurance. If you will, I have a few forms I need to have you fill out." Ulquiorra followed the woman inside the main building, Shiro en suit.

Taking a seat on one of the leather ottomans situated against the wall, Shiro taking another against the wall perpendicular, the stoic man pulled pen from the coffee table in front of them, frowning when he saw the chain attached to it. Businesses were really paranoid about pen theft. Working around the odd arrangement, he began to fill out the itinerary of the documents- signing here, birth month there, bubbling in gender, so on and so forth.

Other from the scratches of pen, the tug of chain whenever the pen would reach maximum distance from the table, and the droning voice of the news anchorman, the room was silent. Shiro slouched, long legs extending out under the table. With a bored eye, he glanced at the magazines offered next to the leashed writing supplies- nothing particularly interesting, just nonsense about losing weight quickly and achieving the perfect tan. Then the silence was pierced.

"You're different." Without averting his attention from the papers before him, he made sure everything was in order before flipping to the next. "We haven't spoken like that in years. Is this issue you spoke of pertaining to this change?"

The albino could have denied this, however denial was still denial. "You could say so." He thought of his next words carefully. "If one was to enter a hay bale, all they would expect to find would be hay. The sharp prick of a needle would be officious, but if eternity was spent wandering that bale, it would be a welcomed change."

"You're avoiding a direct response by hiding behind metaphors." There were barbs of truth in Ulquiorra's words. "But I understand. I don't particularly care about the company you keep, but they must hold something of utmost interest to spark something in your carapace."

He gave in; though he had a feeling Ulquiorra had gotten everything he wanted to know from that short tête-à-tête. "He's different. Though still young, easily provoked, and fighting to find a place of his own, he has a distinct feeling to him often lost in the new generation."

"You speak as if we ourselves are withered and separate from this tide. I am only 27; you yourself still an adolescent at 25."

"I guess." Shiro chuckled fondly, remembering the reaction of the teacher when he had used the same refrain towards the other. "But you know; I get the feeling he overthinks things often, and therefore misses the big picture. He's pretty guarded too. Think I could crack him?"

"The rate at which you switch from sensible to degenerate is almost galling."

"As is your perpetual sunny disposition. You know, this is the first time I've ever heard you talk so much."

"We're full of surprises today." As if to reiterate, Shiro could just barely catch a loose grin on the pale lips of his long-time friend. They had known each other long enough to have childhood pictures taken together. In all the years growing up, he could brag about seeing the other man give the slightest indication of a smile about 16 times. Today made it 17. The albino wanted to give back with one of his own, but it seemed his face muscles wanted to struggle against his attempt. He could feel the strain pull at the corner of his lips, shaking in vain to lift. At best, it appeared as if he was grimacing.

A bell affixed to the door chimed, the same woman from before entering. She took back the clipboard and documents Ulquiorra had filled out, exchanging it for a manila folder that she placed on the table. The cream color of paperboard was sullied with greasy black fingerprints, no doubt of the men in the garage. There was also a portion stained by what looked like a cup ring of a large soda.

"Sorry for the wait- by the way, this was found in the backseat of the hybrid."

Shiro picked up the offending parcel, ignoring how the oil smeared with contact of his fingers.

#

He checked his bag. He checked it twice. It wasn't there. Growling, he pulled out all of the junk and tossed it on top of the table in the staff lounge, shifting through the papers for his folder. How could he have misplaced such an important document? Not only had he slipped the sheets into page protectors, he even put them all in a manila folder for extra protection. Moreover, he specifically wrote not to forget it in large sharpie letters.

Could he have left it at home? It wasn't as if he could drive back and check. He looked up at the clock, its ticking face staring down at him from over the door. It was only second block- he didn't have any classes then. Maybe he could scrounge up the important pieces and rewrite the damn thing. He leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes. Great, he was going to look like a complete idiot in front of the entire English department. It wasn't going to help his cause that he was supposed to explain why a majority of his students had been missing work, and why the school was suddenly receiving a number of calls from parents, wondering why their little so-and-so wasn't passing something as _rudimentary_ as English.

It was a good thing that for whatever reason, the principal of the school had a soft spot for him or else he was pretty sure he would've been booted to the curb. A job like this wasn't exactly easy to come by. Most graduates had to spend at least few years as teacher's assistants, but he was able to obtain a job directly in the field. He couldn't screw this up, or it was back to serving coffee to hipsters at some unnamed café or worse. He'd be demoted to someone's assistant and suffer through the patronizing, underlying-haughty jabs of one of his co-workers.

Keeping out a pad of paper and a pen, he shuffled his things back into his bag. The pen tapped on the paper like a cursor in Microsoft Word. What he had previously typed out was that the students in his class had simply chosen to not do the work. But that sounded too much like an excuse. He couldn't completely blame his students; education was a dual process involving both teacher and pupil. As much as he wanted to target their lack of discipline, there was no proof in their marks to show that it was a continual behavior. It was just him. He tapped his brow with the clicker of the pen before beginning to jot down his thoughts. He loved what he did, and wanted to be able to share the same experience with the generations to come. It was frustrating that they demonstrated not even a lick of interest. What was he doing wrong? It didn't make any more sense to him why kids preferred watching that garbage on television rather than picking up a book to read _real_ dirty stuff. If there was anything a teenager could do to become a real threat to the adult society, it was to read. Words were a dangerous art form, and not just in the way Zaraki made them out to be. A few weeks back, they had shared a conjoined classroom. Since they were mutually working on a poetry unit, the other man had decided to write a few of his own on the blackboard to give the students inspiration. On the last day, he himself was slipped one under his coffee cup on a napkin.

Roses are red.

Violets are red.

Stained from the blood,

From my enemy's head.

He was pretty sure it was some sort of death sentence until he was invited out for a drink. The misconception was cleared then.

When the bell rang it startled him, causing a stray line to deviate on the page. Looking down at his handiwork, he was pleased with what he had to present. Ichigo confidently tucked the notebook under his arm. Third period was about to start.

He hurried himself to the classroom, knowing the room didn't begin to fill until a minute or two before classes officially began. It would give him time to sort himself out. He slid open the door but quickly closed it, door shrieking on its metal hinges. The neighboring teacher peaked out at him with distaste from his classroom and Ichigo offered a nervous apology. His lack of sleep must've really been getting to him; he could have sworn he saw Neliel's father inside the room. He relaxed when a quick peak annulled this figment of his imagination. Fully entering, he hung his things over the back of the chair and got to work writing the objectives on the board. He felt around for an eraser to erase the previous teacher's mess, frowning when it dropped to the floor in a small burst of yellow powder. He bent down to pick it up when his head collided with something hard. He barely kept his balance as he recoiled; knocking into the chalk tray of the blackboard. He looked up with watering eyes, a thin powder of chalk dust settling into the sensitive sockets. Yeah it kind of burned. A lot.

He heard a voice asking if he was alright, and he nodded. He just needed to get this shit out of his corneas. He brought an arm up to watering eyes and the other was grabbed. A large, cold hand led him out of the classroom. Having memorized the basic layout of the building, he was brought to the left side where the science labs were. After a bit of fuss, he was brought to what he assumed was a rinse station and was helped to get the powdery substance out. He cursed under his breath as cool water rushed over the surface of his eye, bringing some visibility back. It was difficult to keep his eyelids from shutting again, their natural instinct at the ready to protect the orbs inside from further harm. From his one clearing eye he could see two pairs of hands helping him. One set operated the station, the other were securely around his form, encouraging him to allow the machine do its job. The teacher was sure he was making a complete fool out of himself. Unconsciously he fought against the intrusion of water, though he knew it was only going to help. Pale fingers extended over his face, fixing it over the trickles of distilled water that arched from the basin. He tensed at the wet touches and tried to pull away.

"Try to open up a little more."

"Trying. It hurts…"

"You'll feel better in a minute."

He grumbled and tried to comply. It stung, but he held fast as the voice reassured him. When both eyes returned to a light shade of white he pulled away, wiping away the wetness. They still felt warm and puffy, but at least he could see. See the rows of eyes watching him curiously, _oh shit_. A few faces he recognized watched on, focus switching to hastily grabbed phones to share the show that had just transpired.

"Good?"

Ichigo turned, surprised to see his fatigue-induced mirage speak to him.

"Shir- er. Mr. Oderschvank?" He corrected himself, glancing at the students before hissing "What are you doing here?"

"Perhaps we should talk where there are fewer onlookers?"

He huffed, following the other out of the classroom. As the pair walked back, Ichigo could just barely hear the chemistry teacher forbid any information about what had just happened leave the classroom, because what Mr. Kurosaki did in his free time was up to him-? What was that supposed to mean? Whatever it was, he'd deal with it later.

He quickened his stride, matching the father's. "Um. Thanks for that. I probably looked like an idiot." But gratitude aside, "Why are you here?"

Shirosaki jiggled the clip on badge on his shirt. It read 'visitor'. The teacher deadpanned. "Just came to drop something off."

"For Neliel? She's in my next class."

"No, for you. Does a manila folder labeled 'important, do not forget' ring any bells?"

His ears perked. "Where did you find it?"

"It was in the backseat of your car. I went down to the garage to check the damage and they gave me it. I left it on your desk."

So he had seen Shirosaki in his classroom.

"What's wrong? Do your eyes still hurt?"

He looked quizzically at the other before feeling a warm droplet trail down his face. He quickly wiped it. "Uh, yeah. I guess they do."

"May I?" Before he could protest, or even inquire to what the other was asking, his face was gently cupped by a white hand. He stepped back, but the older male persisted. A thumb ran lightly under his eye, and he was made to look into half-lidded pools of gold. He struggled to find his voice, a hammering urgency beating against his sternum so loudly he couldn't hear the footsteps of an approaching student.

"Holy shit, Dad what are you-"

His fixation was torn away, horrified amber eyes facing Neliel who looked back with mirroring confusion and shock.

"I- eyes. Uh. I have to go get something from my car." He burst suddenly, pulling himself away. Where the touch lingered burned. The thought of his next class was distant in his mind. He'd talk to the secretary in the main office on the way out. His head was beginning to hurt again.

#

He watched the teacher flee, leaving him to confront the lion himself. She spoke first; it was a mixture of confusion and fervency. "What was that? I mean, with what happened in the car and just now…"

He cocked his hip, putting himself into the 'authoritative adult' position. "Shouldn't you be in class?" She mumbled back something about her friend texting that her dad was out wandering the hallways and asked to be excused to find him.

He could see her tea-colored eyes shake, unstable with self-doubt. He approached her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Hey now, what's the matter?"

"It's nothing Dad-"She tried to brush him off in order to face him directly. "It's just, and I could just be getting way ahead of myself here, but Dad, are you… hitting on my teacher?"

* * *

A/N: You see what I did there? With the title, and… yeah xD Sorry if I made the characters confusing, and if there are any questions review/PM. I don't know if anyone would be interested, but since I'm not as into updating my Bleach fanfictions, I think I'll be posting pseudo updates and WIPs there rather than leaving absolutely nothing updated on for months at a time xD


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